Boundaries of Captivity
by StellaGreene
Summary: A year after the final battle, Draco Malfoy stumbles upon Hermione Granger in a muggle camp. When he decides to help her, he learns that he will have to risk it all, especially when his wife discovers his secret.
1. Prologue

Warning: This story is going to contain some dark themes, and mature content. It will have some foul language, torture, death, rape. Don't read if you are offended!

A/N: Unfortunately I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. Everything belongs to J.K Rowling. That being said, this story disregards the ending of Deathly Hallows.

_Prologue_

_6th Year_

_Hermione was looking for comfort. Comfort like the warmth of a cup full of her favorite tea, like the afternoon sunlight on her sheets as she drifted between sleep and waking. Comfort like the soft blanket that she wrapped around herself while reading 'Hogwarts: A History' until early dawn because she could not sleep, because her subconscious was too busy thinking of everything else. Comfort just like those arms she remembered, that voice she remembered, humming a familiar tune; endless warmth dropping into the deepest part of her soul._

_These incredible things that made everyone feel like everything would be all right, but Hermione's comfort was gone._

_..._

_Draco was looking for space. Space like the huge vastness of the universe. Like a large field of sunflowers that you could run through for hours without end. Space that would make him feel free and invincible. Space like those times that he remembered when he was still young and had no ties to people. No responsibilities. _

_Yet that freedom was now impossible to achieve. Instead his world was filled with duty, obligations, regret, and fear. _

_7th Year _

_"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get that sword? WHERE?"_

_Draco fought as hard as he could to stop his body from trembling, as he winced at the piercing sound of Granger's screams echoing throughout the Manor. He didn't know why he cared, why it bothered him in the least. After all, she was beneath him; filthy, dirty. Still, he had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from screaming along with her. _

_A metallic taste slowly filled his mouth, and he felt bile rising up in his throat. He willed himself to stare down at the cold tile beneath his feet and to not think. He counted to ten and breathed in and out of his nose. _

_In. Out. In. Out. _

_He swore that he could hear Weasley's uncontrollable bellowing in the cellars beneath them, and balled up his fists. The two were useless; unable to save their best friend, he thought bitterly. _

_He had known that it was them the moment that the Snatchers had dragged the trio in, all tied up. The moment that he peered down at Potter's jinxed face, his stomach had dropped. Granger had been quick on her feet, but it had not been enough. Still, he had lied. _

_"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"_

_He wanted to walk up to the stupid girl and to tell her to listen, to give in, so that the torture would stop. He did not think that he could listen to her crying out in pain for a moment longer. Why did she have to be so bloody loyal to her stupid friends? Was she really willing to sacrifice her own life for Potter and the Weasel? _

_"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_

_He wanted to tell Bellatrix to stop, to leave her alone. She was going to die. She was going to die in his fucking home. _

_A few moments later, the room went nearly silent. Granger's breathing became hitched, and her screams turned to muffled whimpers. Draco felt like a coward, he was too afraid to even lift his eyes to look up at her body. Afraid that he would find her dead. _

_The last time that he had stolen a glance, he had noticed that there was a thin cut on her pale cheek. Small droplets of blood were just starting to appear and he was mortified to find that they were pure red, like the roses in the garden out back that his mother was so fond of. Pure red, like his own blood. At that moment he felt pieces of what he had been taught all of his life shatter. He felt unnatural anger towards the dumb girl for confusing him this way. _

_He had to admit that the shine of being a Death Eater had worn off rather quickly for him. He went from an excited, over eager school boy, to a scared man. His disposition had always better resembled his mother's than his father's, and his mother was a kind woman. His father himself had become somewhat disillusioned with the Dark Lord._

_There was no glory in serving a monster. _

_Still, they all had roles to p__lay, and Draco removed all traces of emotion from his hard features as he prepared for whatever he would have to face next._

_It was a simple game; he had to do what he had to do to survive, to keep his family safe. He might of hated himself for it, but at least he was alive._

_..._

_"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."_

_Hermione's listened as Voldemort's amplified voice spoke to all of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and most of all to Harry. The trio exchanged dark looks before joining hands and running through a tunnel that lead back to the school._

_The Great Hall was a big blur of moving figures. There was a putrid smell of death, and burning flesh. The wounded's cries of pain could be heard from every direction as Madam Pomfrey made her rounds. Even worse were the cries of anguish that came from families, and friends, mourning the loss of their loved ones._

_Hermione quickly scanned the crowd before her breath caught in her throat. Standing in a corner were a group of familiar red heads, huddled around Fred's tattered body. She walked forward, unsure of how her legs were able to carry her without giving out. _

_Molly Weasley was on her knees, gently rocking back and forth, clutching on to her dead son's body. Beside them, Remus and Tonks lay next to each other, eyes closed, as though they were simply taking a short nap. _

_Tears swelled in Hermione's brown eyes, and she felt Ginny reach out and grab her hand. The two girls stood for what felt like an eternity, both having succumbed to loud sobs that escaped their small frames. But there was no time to dwell on those who had lost their lives in this horrible battle. They had to end this. _

_"Harry? Where is Harry?" Hermione finally choked out, raising her hand and wiping her eyes._

_Ginny shook her head and looked around, searching for a mess of black hair. _

_He was gone. _

_Dread seized Hermione's mind as she thought of him venturing out alone, it wasn't safe. He had Snape's memories, certainly he was going to find a way to view them. There was one way she knew. _

_"Ron. Ronald, we have to go. We have to go now," she said, frantically pulling on Ron's arm. _

_He glanced at her, his face white as a ghost, eyes bloodshot. A few seconds ago he had been hugging all of his brothers, trying to comfort his mother. She could not take him away. _

_"Ron, I'm going to get Harry from Professor Dumbledore's old office. I will be right back okay?"_

_He barely nodded before turning away._

_"Stay safe!" Ginny called after her. _

_She ran, ran as fast as she could through multiple corridors, and up the changing staircases. When she reached her destination she quickly noted that the gargoyle was rather battered, and proceeded without having to provide a password. _

_"Harry?" she called out. _

_The large circular room was completely empty. Even the portraits of the many Headmasters and Headmistresses were bare. Harry Potter was gone. Hermione didn't want for it to be true, but as she thought back on everything that they had learned she could only reach one conclusion. _

_"I open at the close." _

_The inscription on the snitch finally made sense to her. _

_Gathering whatever strength she had left Hermione pondered her options. She was always the one with the plan, but she no longer had the luxury of time. Harry needed her, she couldn't let him sacrifice himself. Making a decision, she made her way back downstairs, and towards the grounds, avoiding anyone who threw questions her way. _

_She ran past Hagrid's hut looming out in the darkness, until she reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Here she paused and caught her breath as a sudden chill overtook her. Dementors. Hermione knew that she would not be able to produce a Patronus, she was never much good at one. She threw herself forward, and tried to maneuver through the jagged branches that were now leaving deep cuts across her arms. She had to reach Harry. She had to stop Harry. _

_Suddenly, something large collided with her stomach, and she huddled over in pain. Gasping for air, Hermione tried to keep moving but instead sank to the ground. _

_"Stupid Mudblood bitch," a voice rang out, laughing. "You're too late."_

_Then everything went black. _


	2. Fear

Hermione's large brown eyes snapped open, and she sat up in fear, her bony chest heaving up and down quickly. Scorching pain went through her left side, and she hazily wondered if her ribs were broken again. For a moment, she was disoriented, not knowing where she was. However, as her nightmare faded, reality sank in. Reality that was possibly even worse than the nightmare that had awoken her.

She allowed her vision to adjust to the darkness before peering around the small room and seeing that the other women were still asleep. Some were moaning in pain, others barely breathing. The tiny space stank of sweat and blood, and decay, but she was used to the smell.

Letting her dirty feet hit the cold floor, Hermione stumbled outside, willing for her heart to stop racing. It was just a dream. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself.

Outside, the sky was pitch black, painted with small stars. If she had to guess she would say that they were on the outskirts of England, but she could not be sure. Hermione let out a breath of relief; no guards were in sight. For one blissful moment she allowed the cool breeze to ruffle her curls, and tried to pretend that she was somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

Her first reaction to the camp had been a feeling of surprise. She had been imagining something horrible and sinister, but it looked practically harmless from the outside. Mostly, it looked like a large settlement. Still, life had a funny sense of humor, and things were never as they appeared.

For a year now, Hermione had been at the mercy of those she hated. Death Eaters. Men. Women. She had seen things that were forever burned into her mind, a constant reminder of what it meant to be a muggle born since Voldemort had taken over. She knew that she should consider it luck that she had not been killed, but even death seemed sweet now.

Harry was dead. She dared not wonder about the others. If Ron was alive...well she had given up any hope months ago. She only prayed.

Hermione didn't know the names of the other women who shared the small living quarters with her. They were all muggle borns she assumed, for none had gone to Hogwarts with her. She didn't ask many questions, and neither did they. For a while she wondered if this had just been another ploy. Another way to stop her from hearing any news. Another way to torture her slowly. To strip her of any remaining faith.

Hermione Granger was dead, they had made damn sure of that. The girl she was now, was simply an empty shell. She was a ghost. She had fought at first but...it was foolish to voice her thoughts when they brought her nothing but added misery, more beatings, more shame.

Had it ever mattered that she had been the brightest witch in her class? Had it ever mattered that she had loved fiercely, and was loved in return by pure bloods? It all seemed ages ago now.

What mattered now was fear, and uncertainty of what was to come. Why were they keeping her alive? What purpose did she serve? They never even asked her for information. They did not care. Still, they kept her. Nothing in this world made sense anymore.

Pain. Anger. Humiliation. Helplessness. No number of words that Hermione had remembered from the many books that she had read seemed good enough to sum up the way she felt now.

"Did you fancy yourself a stroll through the night Mudblood?"

Her blood ran cold as Hermione jerked away from the raspy whisper coming from the shadows behind her. She turned slowly, and saw a hooded figure standing a few feet away.

"I-I'm sorry. I will be-" she stammered, backing up.

The man laughed. It took him all of two steps to close the space between them. He dropped his hood and peered down at her thin face.

"Zabini," she choked out.

Hermione remembered him from school. He had been Malfoy's friend. Wealthy, handsome, a bully; no different than the rest of them. The guards at the camp changed frequently. They came and went as they pleased, although some were regulars. As far as she knew he was not.

His long fingers wrapped around her wrists, and in a sharp movement he pulled her arms above her head. "Don't you dare speak my name Mudblood. Haven't you got any manners?" he spat roughly.

She looked up and met his icy stare knowing that she had to be brave. She wouldn't give him, give them, the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

"Death Eater," she spat back at him, now fighting against his hold.

Hermione knew that it was stupid. It was pointless and would only cause her harm but how she hated them. The hate swelled inside her belly, swelled until she swore that she was seeing black.

When his hand connected with her face, she let out a cry. Tears came to her eyes, and she noticed that the ground seemed to be spinning under her. This was nothing new.

"Now, now. What should I do with you?" he pushed her to the ground, and gave her a kick.

Before Hermione could make sense of what was happening, Blaise was on top of her. He sat on her stomach, pinning her arms under his weight. Straddling her. She struggled and cried out. She had not been scared before, not truly, but seeing the way his face had twisted in anger at her words she knew that she had made a mistake. He slapped her again.

"Shut your mouth. Shut your fucking mouth or I will kill you," he said, leaning down so that his mouth was right against her right ear.

Hermione wanted to tell him that she didn't care. That she was ready to die right here and now, but the words seemed unable to escape her chapped lips.

Blaise kissed her neck. She gasped and tried to lift her head but he was already grasping her throat. A new kind of dread filled her. Hermione had been beaten yes, she had been near death yes, but never had she been violated in this way. She thought that she might throw up, but she had not eaten in days.

"Please! I'm a Mudblood! I'm disgusting!"

She didn't know what she was saying. Anything. Anything to stop him.

Blaise ran his free hand down her body, and under her dress. His fingers climbed higher and higher, until he found what he was searching for. He pulled at her underwear, sliding them down her legs. Finally, he lifted himself slightly up.

"Turn over. I don't want to look at you," he stated like it was a simple command.

Hermione didn't move. No. No. No.

"You know you're pretty when you're mad. I like to see some life in you," he growled. "Fine, have it your way."

His fist collided with the side of her head. Still, she didn't move, but now she was unable to do so. Blaise flipped her so that she was facedown in the dirt. Hermione coughed, and swore that blood sprayed out of her mouth.

She heard him undo his trousers, and then he was splitting her in two and she cried out, biting down on her tongue. Was this what Voldemort had felt when he had split his soul?

"You're as dry as an old hag."

He pounded faster, and Hermione closed her eyes.

It was over in minutes, but she was hardly aware when he was no longer on top of her. She had stopped crying. She had stopped moving.

Blaise pulled on her arm, and took her by the shoulders, laying her on her back.

He coughed and stood up. "You know I'm a married man," he said, shuffling his feet.

Crazy. This monster is crazy, Hermione thought.

"It's an arranged marriage you see. Do you want to know what she does when I fuck her Granger?"

When she didn't reply he continued. "She does nothing. She lays there and she takes it like an obedient wife even though I know she despises me."

Hermione felt herself slipping away.

"At least you're free Mudblood. Free to show your hate. I will be back."

She heard the fluttering of his cloak, and then he was gone. She wanted to laugh at his absurdity, his cruelty, his pathetic ways but instead she closed her eyes and wept before sleep consumed her.


	3. Second Visit

A/N: I just realized that the prologue didn't post correctly, so I went back and fixed it. For some reason it took out the breaks between the different scenes. Oh well, moving on! Also, there are a few scenes here taken exactly from the books that all belong to J.K Rowling.

...

"There's blood between her legs," a woman stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"That's normal. Here, use this rag. Apply some pressure."

"What a pity."

Hermione faded in and out of consciousness as she became aware of two female voices having a discussion near her. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt heavy and she wondered if perhaps her face was swollen. She gathered that she was laying on her own cot, it was stiff and stale, but it was better than being left out in the open.

"Ha-"

"Quiet. Don't speak. We're helping you."

Hermione closed her dry mouth and lay still. She thought briefly about Zabini and what had happened, only to end up making choking sounds when she didn't have the strength to fully cry.

"Shh girl. It will be okay. He got your face pretty good, but it will heal."

"I-"

"Sleep now," a soothing voice whispered.

Hermione did as she was told. Her head was spinning, but within moments she was dreaming of Harry and Ron.

_"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

_The red headed boy in front of her waved his wand, but nothing happened. His rat stayed gray and fast asleep._

_"__Are you sure that's a real spell?" she asked rather haughtily. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course."_

_The train faded only to be replaced by the Great Hall. _

_"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!" _

_So many memories._

_Hermione slid out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker towards Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half-raised his arms. _

"You need to drink."

Hermione groaned and tried to block out the soft tugging on her arm.

"Ronald, I'm warning you," she murmured.

"Wake up. You're having a dream. You've been asleep for more than a day," a voice repeated. A voice that did not belong to Ron.

Slowly, Hermione came to and saw that a thin girl was standing over her. She had dark black hair that fell past her waist, and elegant features that perfectly complemented her petite frame. Everything about her seemed miniature, almost as if she were a child. Hermione recalled seeing her before, but they had never spoken.

She pushed a cup to Hermione's lips. "Drink."

Once again, Hermione obliged and took small sips. The water was heaven. She had not been aware of her thirst until it had been quenched. Still, she began chugging, afraid that she would not have another chance.

"Easy now," the girl warned, prying the cup out of Hermione's grasp.

"Thank you."

"I'm Cornelia," the girl said.

"I'm-"

"I know who you are." Cornelia laughed, and sat down on the corner of Hermione's cot. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I've seen your face in the Daily Prophet far too often."

"You look young," Hermione observed.

Cornelia nodded in agreement. "I am. Just a few years older than you are actually," she sighed. "I didn't go to Hogwarts. It was Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for me, my parents lived in London though and I was visiting them when-" she broke off and looked away.

Hermione didn't have to ask why she had stopped speaking. She could only imagine the horrors that her family had faced assuming that they were muggle borns. With a pang in her chest she thought of her own parents, and if they were safe in Australia. Even if they were, there was slim chance that she would ever see them again. When she felt her eyes water, she pushed off the covers and winced at the sight that met her.

She was dressed in just her bra and knickers, and her hips were badly bruised. In fact, her whole body looked like an ugly canvas; a mix of green, purple, yellow, and blue. Her white underwear were soaked with dried blood, and held what appeared to be bandages.

Hermione had prided herself for not losing spirit for so long, but she was utterly defeated. It was not a great secret that she had been a virgin. Now, she was just some whore to a Death Eater. She sucked in her breath and felt her body tremble.

"It's not just you," Cornelia whispered.

She had a wild look in her dark eyes, and Hermione noted that although her statement was meant to show her the harsh reality, the girl had not said it to be unkind. It was strange to actually have a full conversation with someone.

"He said that he would be back," Hermione offered boldly.

Cornelia titled her head and shrugged her shoulders. "They all come back. Or they don't. Doesn't matter either way, they're all the same."

"That's it then?" asked Hermione incredulously. "We're just supposed to be used for their fucking pleasure? Because we're muggle borns? We're supposed to do nothing?"

She didn't understand why she was so overtaken with anger. After all, she had expected something of this nature to happen for a while now. She certainly knew that it happened to some others.

"Hermione, what are we supposed to do?" Cornelia stood now. "The more you fight the more they..." she indicated to Hermione's battered face. "I learned a long time ago to stop struggling, it's a waste of energy."

"Only in a time like this could being young and beautiful be a curse I suppose," Hermione voiced.

It was true that the other witch was beautiful. She was exquisite. Hermione believed herself to be plain, she always had, and she had no idea why Zabini had chosen her other than the fact that she had been there.

"Young, old, sometimes they don't care," Cornelia replied. She truly was a feisty little thing. Feisty, but just as dead on the inside as any of them. "Get some rest, you still need to heal. I'll check on you again in a little while."

...

Two weeks passed. Then three. Hermione's bruises slowly faded and she tried to wrap her mind around everything that had happened. People often said that in dark times you learned to appreciate the little things, but Hermione easily disagreed. She no longer cared about anything but the fear that consumed her. The fear that distracted her from everything else. Everything was irrelevant and distorted, everyone around her was drowning in melancholy. She knew that she was a Gryffindor, but sometimes it made sense to be petrified.

At the end of the second week, true to his word, Zabini returned. He showed up in the middle of the night, but this time he had grabbed her roughly from bed, and taken her to a private tent.

It would be a lie to say that the second time was better.

Hermione noted that he was more detached this time; he seemed out of it, distant. Whatever anger he experienced before, was gone, at least for a moment. He did not hit her. She tried to remember Cornelia's words of advice and did not struggle...much. Afterwards, he cried. He then proceeded to pace around the tent, picking up random possessions and throwing them.

"You're fucking nothing you know? Nothing," he stated coolly.

She chose not to reply.

"Why did you not fight me this time?" he asked.

Again, Hermione kept her mouth shut.

"You're lucky the Dark Lord doesn't send you somewhere worse. Just wait, your time will come."


	4. Dearest Wife

A/N: Time for a little bit of Draco! Sorry that the updates are rather short, I'm so busy it's easier to post short chapters.

Draco sat quietly across from his wife, neither of them so much as touching the food on their plates. He frowned, and glanced at the emerald watch on his wrist. Fifteen more minutes and he could give up all pretense of caring. Fifteen more minutes and he could be spared her horrid attempts at making conversation. She was so utterly boring and despicable he sometimes didn't know if he should laugh or cry.

A mere two weeks after the battle his father had informed him that he was betrothed.

_"You have a duty," he had said, smiling, as though he was making Draco's deepest wish come true. "She is the perfect match. I inspected her family tree myself. You know she is related to..."_

They were married in a week, just six days after Crabbe's funeral.

A year later they were completely settled in their home, which was a majestic feat of architecture. A long road lined with pine trees led to a beautiful courtyard that featured a grand fountain. Just behind, stood the mansion, rising four stories high. The brickwork was pristine; Draco's father had made sure that he would have nothing but the best. A spacious porch ran all the way around the house, a feature that he loved the most. All in all, it was beyond anything else within the near vicinity. On the inside, marble and granite covered every surface. The entry way had a grand spiral staircase that made Draco dizzy. The drawing room alone spanned nearly thirty feet and held an ornate carved fireplace. The formal dining room sat fifty guests, and had a skylight fashioned from stained glass.

It was simply over the top, but exactly as Astoria had requested.

"Are you listening to me?"

Draco looked up to find Astoria gazing at him. She was a beautiful girl, that he could not deny. Her pale blonde hair rested in a delicate bun just above her neck, not a strand out of place. Her deep blue eyes were astonishing, wide and soulful. She wore expensive robes, laced with green, no doubt eager to show off her house pride, or to please him. She had no idea that his favorite color was red. The poor little fool had not even finished going to Hogwarts. Instead she had hired a private tutor, stating that the school had fallen apart and would take months to repair.

"I'm sorry, I was just..." Draco trailed off.

Astoria huffed, and rolled her eyes. "Drake, you're always so tense," she giggled.

He really thought that he might vomit. He knew that she was young, but hadn't the war taught her anything?

He still remembered how on their wedding day, he had found himself wondering if things would have been different if Potter had won. Had he wanted for him to win? The thought unnerved him. Still, Potter had saved his life. Potter, Weasel, and Granger. He didn't know what happened to the weasel, but he knew that Granger had been sent to some camp. Thinking about her made him feel a nagging irritation in his lower belly, and he was overcome with an urge to scream.

After the ceremony, and the lavish party his mother had thrown, he had found himself alone with his bride for the first time.

He remembered how much he had drank that night, so much that he had nearly poured his heart out to Astoria. Would it have been so bad, after all, to have a companion? He remembered talking about Crabbe, and how he missed his friend, even if he was always a huge prick to him. He remembered the way she had stifled a yawn, so politely, so delicately. Most of all, he remembered her calculated reply.

_"It's just another casualty. I mean...who cares...really?" _

"Really, what is with you tonight?"

Astoria was now standing up, her face flushed. Draco knew that he had been doing it a lot lately; staring off into space, recalling memories that no longer held any meaning in the new world. He had been picking apart his life, to see where it all went wrong, but everything blurred together.

"I'm just tired," he stated curtly. "Sit down and eat."

It was an order, and like the good pure blood wife that she was, Astoria immediately sat and cut her steak.

She ate a small piece, and chewed slowly. "I'm going out tomorrow."

"Where?" Draco asked casually. He knew that he was supposed to ask, supposed to care. "How much money will you need?" he added.

He gave her a weekly allowance, but she always seemed to demand more.

"To one of those Mudblood camps," she replied, looking him in the eyes as she said it.

Draco froze, unsure of what to say. "Why would you possibly be going to a place like that?"

He had avoided the camps at all costs.

"I want to help. Daphne has been going for weeks now. You wouldn't believe the stories she has been telling me," she laughed, and took a sip of wine. "Apparently some of those vile Mudbloods have been trying to fight back."

"Yes thank you for that knowledge. I am quite fucking aware. However, you are my wife. I will not have my wife doing...dirty work."

Draco knew that she was always impulsive. There was always a new trend on the rise that she had to try. A new robe designer. A summer trip to France, because all the other women were going. Two house elves instead of one.

"This is what I want," she pouted.

Draco shook his head and rubbed his temples. "Is this some new hobby of yours?"

Astoria set down her fork. "Shouldn't you encourage this? What would the Dark Lord think? Draco Malfoy, angry that his wife wants to put bug-ridden Mudbloods in their place."

Draco stood, and pushed away his plate. "I am not angry." His voice was dripping with hate but he did not care. Why would she choose this? Why would she choose to witness all the pain, all the suffering, if she didn't have to? Why would she choose to be the one to inflict it? Draco did not have a choice, he was a Death Eater. He had to torture, he had to do mission after mission. He had to hunt down those who still opposed his master.

"Perhaps you have developed a sympathy for them then. Is it the Mudblood brats that you feel for?"

Draco's face was white. "Avada all of them for all I care, but don't dare disobey my decisions again. Remember your place. This is my house. You are my wife. You may go tomorrow, but I won't tolerate this behavior."

"Great, it's settled then," Astoria smiled sweetly and blinked. "I'll be leaving at eight."

Her cold eyes were sparkling in a way that they never had before, and Draco had a sinking feeling that she would enjoy having power over those who were less fortunate than her.

He didn't know how he had missed the fact that his own wife was a manipulative bitch.


	5. Old Friend

A/N: Another short update. I really wish I had more time, but I hope you guys are enjoying the story. Things will be really picking up soon.

Three weeks passed since Astoria had decided to start "working" in the muggle born camps, and Draco found himself rarely seeing her. They nodded at each other in passing, and slept on opposite sides of the house. He was gone, doing missions, half of the time, the other half she was off doing whatever it was that she did. He often found her observing him, looking for a sign of something, but he didn't give it much thought. Draco would be lying if he said he cared. He had come to realize that underneath the naive surface, she was truly cruel. She hid it well, or maybe he had never paid enough attention. Still, pure blood marriages were not created for love, they were created for power, and that they had.

However, while he appeared powerful, inside Draco was constantly anxious. He didn't know why. Voldemort was becoming darker by the minute, even his most loyal servants now fearing him. He was always feared in the past, but it was different now. Any trace of humanity had been stripped from him. It was lucky that Draco had learned Occlumency because he did not want his master prying into his inner mind. He would be dead within seconds. The Dark Lord spared no one.

A small part of Draco hated himself. He was a coward. He had wanted so badly to protect his family, to get some glory, that he had helped create this world. He remembered how after Crabbe died he had huddled in a dark corner wanting nothing more than to have all of it disappear. The screams, the stink, the destruction, himself.

The memories were horrifying. They were haunting.

It was Wednesday evening and Draco once again had the house to himself. He liked being along, preferred it. Alone; just him and his demons. He picked up a bottle of fire whiskey and poured himself a rather tall glass. He drained it in a few gulps, and poured another. It was likely that Astoria wouldn't be home for hours. He could sit and stare at the polished walls in peace, he could play back memory by memory...

A loud knock echoed downstairs and he was instantly on his feet, alert and sober. It was moments like this that Draco wished that he had kept his house elf, Dotsy, but he had let her go to spite Astoria and her childish tantrums. Walking downstairs slowly, he wondered who dared disturb him at such an hour.

Cracking the door, a smile crept on his face. Even hidden beneath the hooded cloak, he could recognize her anywhere.

"Pansy," he murmured, opening his arms.

The witch didn't hesitate for a second before she practically clung to him, as though he was her life source; the anchor grounding her. Draco nuzzled his face into her warm neck and breathed in her scent. She was just like he remembered.

He pulled away softly. "When did you get back?"

"Today. May I?" she gestured inside, and he stepped back to allow her entrance.

Pansy had spent the last month in France. She had left without warning, owling Draco only days later. He harbored a few ideas on the reasons behind her mysterious trip, but didn't bother asking. She was his oldest, and probably only friend, but some topics were off limits, even for them.

He led her to the kitchen, and took her cloak. She looked different; worn, thin, and older. Her once glossy, raven hair was now dull. Her porcelain skin was even more pale.

"Where is he?"

"Blaise?" she sat down and sighed. "Would you be a darling and make me some tea?"

Draco frowned, but immediately obliged.

"Well?" he asked again.

"I don't know. I haven't seen him yet. He wasn't home when I arrived," she stated simply.

Pansy had married Blaise shortly after the war. She never confided her feelings on the matter, but Draco was sure that it was not a happy union. In school, Pansy had been ruthless, vain, and superficial. She had followed Draco around like a sick puppy, and he adored her attention. Now, she was thoughtful and reserved. She wore very little makeup, and had loose robes that did nothing for her form. He didn't know if the change had occurred due to the war, or due to her loveless marriage.

Draco handed her a cup of steaming tea, and sat across from her. "So...you haven't seen him at all since you left?"

Pansy gave him a questioning look. "No. He was busy here, in London."

Draco knew that she would be unwilling to discuss anything. Still, he cared about the girl so deeply that he could not ignore her obvious pain. She was as close to a sibling as he was ever bound to have. If that bastard was mistreating her, he would figure it out.

"Pans..." he stopped and gathered his thoughts. "You didn't just go to France for fun."

"You're right. I also had to do some shopping," she laughed, but it was forced.

"Are you really not going to tell me what's going on?" Draco slammed his fist on the table, and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

Pansy straightened her back, and held her head a little higher. "There's nothing to say. He is my husband Draco," she whispered. "Where is Astoria?"

He didn't miss the way she changed the subject from her partner, to his, but answered anyways. "She has taken to...helping at muggle born camps."

"That's awful."

Draco searched her violet eyes. Her statement had been so simple, but held so many different meanings. He hoped against all hope that Pansy understood, that Pansy felt just as hollow as he did, that Pansy too spent her days wishing that the Dark Lord had not prevailed.

Pansy cleared her throat, and fidgeted with her hands. "Do you- do you know which camp she goes to?"

"No idea. The same one that Daphne works at I assume. Why?"

"Before I left for France, Blaise had visited one."

Draco felt that he was finally getting closer to the real reason she fled London.

"What for?" he asked.

"I was hoping that you would be able to tell me that Draco."


	6. Granger

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying!

Draco walked through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron and pulled off his heavy traveling cloak. If possible, the popular pub was even more dark and shabby than ever. A few wannabe Death Eaters sat huddled in a dusty corner, drinking mugs of Butterbeer. An old man rested on a stool at the bar talking to himself. Draco scanned the room again before finding the man he was searching for. He approached him quietly and slipped into the empty seat beside him.

"Fire whiskey please," he said loudly, before placing some money down on the table.

Blaise Zabini barely made an effort to turn his way. "Do my ears deceive me or is the precious Draco Malfoy actually doing some day drinking? I didn't know that you had time for such trivial things anymore."

Draco's blood boiled, but he remained calm, willing himself to remember that this was for Pansy. While it was true that him and Blaise had run in the same circle during school, secretly the other boy had always annoyed him; constantly trying to one up him. Pansy deserved better.

"Nice to see you as well Blaise," he replied cooly.

Draco knew that he had to be careful with his approach, or Blaise would easily call his bluff. While the other man was always extremely cocky, he wasn't an idiot, and Draco never underestimated the enemy.

"It's been a while hasn't it? I hear that you're always...doing the important missions."

Blaise placed an emphasis on important, as though nothing could be farther from the truth.

"I am," Draco paused. "It's a very...stressful environment. Astoria has been busy as well lately."

After Pansy had mentioned that things had taken a turn for the worse when Blaise first went to the muggle born camps, Draco quickly put the pieces together. However, he had to be sure before he presented the information to Pansy. He knew that it wasn't unheard of; Death Eaters getting off with the muggle borns. On the other hand, he never imagined Zabini being interested in such affairs.

For the first time, Blaise angled his body towards Draco. "Has she now? You know, if you're looking to wind down, I have something that can help."

Jackpot. Draco nearly grinned when thinking about how easy it was to get Blaise to show off. Of course he would want to prove to Draco that he had discovered something that the other man hadn't.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked non-chalantly.

Blaise sat down his glass. "Come with me and I'll show you, but you have to keep this between us. Unless..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know if this will interest you. It's not for everyone. Some might believe that they're...above partaking in such activities."

Draco's gaze was stern. "I'm not."

"Then come."

"Alright," Draco stood and motioned for Blaise to follow.

The two men walked outside before Blaise grabbed his arm and Apparated them without warning.

Draco stumbled slightly when he landed, but regained his balance. He felt slightly nauseous, and wanted to curse Zabini for not having any manners.

"Where are we?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well.

Blaise didn't answer, instead he marched forward, through a set of small buildings. Draco quickly noted that they were trapped. A red light radiated from a high fence that surrounded the whole place; magical reinforcements, he thought. A few women passed them. They were dressed in rags, and kept their eyes peeled to the ground as they walked.

It suddenly hit Draco that he had no real plan. He was in a place that he swore he would never visit, a place that made his throat close up, that made his skin itch.

Blaise held up his hand, and they came to a halt. They stood in a small, muddy clearing.

"Help me put this up," barked Blaise, his eyes wild.

It was a tent. Larger on the inside than it appeared, clearly charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm. It held two large beds, a small table with two chairs, and a single bathroom. Draco swallowed nervously, and paced around the room.

"I'll go get them. Get her," said Blaise, barely concealing his growing excitement.

He was walking out when he turned around. "I'll pick someone out for you. You can do whatever you want with her, but don't touch the one that belongs to me." His voice was cold, possessive.

Draco nodded, and sat down. Seconds seemed to tick by like hours, and his hands grew warm and sweaty. He thought about leaving. After all, he had all the evidence that he needed. He definitely didn't plan on touching some muggle born girl. The mere thought made him feel as though he was dying. However, a small part of him was curious to know what she looked like. The muggle born that had so deeply undone Zabini.

Almost in the distance, he heard the entrance to the tent unzipping. Then footsteps.

"Here, this one was rather beautiful," growled Blaise.

Draco was startled to find a girl at his feet. Her head was bowed, dark black hair falling everywhere. She instantly reminded him of Pansy, and he recoiled, falling over in his chair. Blaise laughed.

"Someone is a little shy."

Draco looked up to see Blaise smirking up at him. His arm was around a young girl, with curly brown hair, and dead honey eyes. Her mouth was parted in shock as she glared at him. He was automatically reminded of his aunt, and of another muggle born girl screaming in pain. He felt as though lightning struck him. The girl was pretty, she was magnetic, she was...

"Granger?"

Blaise clapped his hands together. "I knew that this would be a lovely reunion."


	7. Rescue

A/N: I know, it's been ages.

Time seemed to come to a halt as Hermione stood with her mouth slightly open, staring at the familiar man in front of her. He stared back, his expression blank. For a moment she thought that she saw a flicker of fear cross his face, but then it was gone. Her eyebrows furrowed together, and she forced herself not to blink. Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes.

The war had changed Malfoy, yes, but for the better. He filled out his robes, his hair wasn't slicked back. He no longer looked like the little scared boy that she once used to know. The only sign of wear that was apparent were the dark circles under his grey eyes. The unfairness of it all made Hermione's stomach clench. In her mind, she cursed loudly, and then thought of how she could survive the humiliation that was sure to come. She gritted her teeth together, and wrapped her arms around herself.

The boy who bullied her, would now watch as she lost another piece of her soul. She wondered how much of a kick he would get out of it. Hermione had prepared herself for Zabini, but she never thought that there would be someone else. Before she could form another coherent thought, Blaise roughly pulled at her robe, exposing her bare breast. Immediately, Hermione felt hot tears run down her face.

It happened in a flash.

One moment, Malfoy was on the floor, the next he had his wand out and pointed at Blaise, and then everything went black and silent. Hermione felt someone grab her arm, and then she was spinning; being squeezed through what felt like a small tunnel.

She landed in a loud thud, and fell to her knees. Coughing, she bent over and dry heaved. She knew the sensation but it had been so long since she experienced it.

"Be quiet Granger. Shut up."

Looking up, Hermione took in her surroundings as her vision gained focus. The luxury of the room seemed to take her breath away. Before her stood a large four-poster bed with extravagant silk sheets and pillows. Beneath her, was a fur carpet that was softer than anything she had felt in years. Malfoy paced the room quickly, running his hands through his hair. He muttered to himself, and seemed keen to avoid her gaze.

"What...what's happening Malfoy? Where are we? Why did you bring me here?"

Suddenly, Hermione realized that maybe he didn't want to just watch. Maybe he wanted to be the star of the show. Scrambling to her feet, she backed up into the nearest corner and shrunk as far down as her body would allow.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he barked.

"You might as well kill me now, because I can promise you that I would rather die a thousand deaths before I let you touch me," Hermione cried out.

He laughed then. It was a mad laugh and Hermione felt goose bumps rise on the back of her neck.

"Touch you? I-I saved you from him," Malfoy walked over to her and took her by the shoulders. "I couldn't, I just couldn't watch..." he trailed off. "I have to go. I have to be there when he wakes up. We don't have much time. If Pansy finds out that it's you..."

Hermione was too stunned to speak. She had no idea what this meant, what was happening. Was this his idea of a sick joke? What did Pansy have to do with anything? She briefly wondered if the pair had gotten married. After all, the girl had swooned over him.

"Is she your wife?" she asked.

Ignoring her, he looked her dead in the eyes. "Do not leave this room do you understand?" he asked. "Do you understand?" he asked again when she did not reply.

She nodded.

Unsatisfied, Malfoy picked her up, and half carried, half dragged her to a door. Inside, was the biggest closet that Hermione had ever seen. Robes of every color, and of every fabric hung from multiple rows.

"Stay here until I return," he ordered.

"Malfoy! Cornelia, what about Cornelia?" Hermione suddenly asked, ashamed that she had only just remembered the other girl.

"Who?"

"The girl, the dark haired girl."

He paused for a moment. "I can do nothing for her."

With that, he stepped through the door and closed it. Hermione heard a key being turned, and knew that she was locked inside.

Time passed at an unbearable rate. She wondered if it would be possible to escape, but didn't know where to start. The fear seemed to root her to the floor, where she curled in the fetal position, shaking. She didn't have a wand, she didn't have any strength, and she had no idea of her location.

Multiple questions popped in her brain, but Hermione did her best to push them away. Malfoy had helped her. He had helped her. Still, the situation was too good to be true. She knew that the snake had to have an ulterior motive.

Hermione must have fallen asleep, because soon she was being shaken awake. She sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Malfoy sat across from her, his face solemn, holding a plate of food. Her mouth watered at the smell, and he immediately held it out. With shaking hands, Hermione tried her best to not look barbaric as she tore a roll and stuffed it in her mouth. It was heaven, absolute heaven. However, after only a few bites scorching pain went through her abdomen and she groaned.

"You'll make yourself sick," stated Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm starving."

"You can have more later," he replied vaguely.

"Where are we?"

He paused before answering. "My home."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are we here Malfoy. What are you playing at? Why did you save me from Blaise, from that place?"

The questions poured from her mouth before Hermione could stop herself.

"Look," he started. "I don't know. I watched you suffer once and I didn't feel like witnessing that again alright? Is that so hard to believe?"

His voice was harsh and cold. Hermione didn't buy one word of what he said, but still she questioned further. "What happened when you went back? What did you do to him? They'll find out you know. They will find me, and they won't hesitate to kill us both when they do."

He smirked slightly. "They won't find out Granger. As far as Blaise knows him and I both awoke to find you missing. He was suspicious at first, but there is no evidence. It is believed that you were rescued."

"Rescued?"

"By the Order," Malfoy suggested.

Hermione felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her head. The Order still existed. Reaching out, she grabbed Malfoy's hands and clutched them.

"You have to tell me. You have to tell me everything. Is Ron-"

"Stop," Malfoy cut her off. "The less you know the better. It doesn't matter anymore Granger don't you get it? Your side lost."

"How can you say that?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why bring me here then? What's your plan?"

He forced his hands out of her grasp with disgust. "Plan? There is no plan. Im keeping you hidden here or we're both dead."


	8. Nightmares

_A/N: Tiniest of updates. _

_Also someone mentioned that Draco should fall in love with Pansy, and while that would be an interesting couple, I already had the plot in mind and this is a Dramione story. _

Hermione spent the better half of the next hour trying to convince Malfoy to tell her any valuable information, but he simply refused. Frustrated, she finally decided to drop the subject for the time being. She certainly wasn't planning on staying hidden when she could help, but she knew that she was much too weak and needed to recover before scheming. Her whole body ached, and she could feel her eyes becoming droopy.

"Listen, not to be offensive but you smell like something putrid. You're going to stink up all of my robes," huffed Draco. "There is a shower through my bedroom. When you're done put on some of my pajamas and I will take care of your clothes. You will also need some healing potions," he added.

Hermione wanted to argue, but knew that he was right. Sighing, she slowly stood and walked to the washroom, shutting the door behind her. She gasped as she caught sight of her face in the large mirror directly in front of her. She was much too thin, with much too many cuts and bruises covering her entire body. She looked like an abstract art work; purple, blue, green, brown, red, and yellow. Her hair was dirty, tangled, and more bushy than ever.

Determined, Hermione began rummaging through drawers until she found what she was looking for; a pair of metallic scissors. Without a second thought, she began chopping away at the mess on her head. Soon the floor underneath her feet was covered in brown clumps, making her nearly laugh at the insanity of what was happening. Her hair now barely touched her shoulders, when before it went past her back.

Unable to look at herself any longer, Hermione turned away, discarded her robe and stepped down into the large tub. She allowed the water to slowly fill up, making it boiling hot. Tears stung her eyes at the contact, and her skin became flushed, but she didn't care, she just wanted to feel clean. Lathering up the soap Hermione washed her body over, and over, and over again. She scrubbed until the pain was too much, until she felt as though she might pass out. She didn't realize that she was sobbing until a knock on the door startled her.

"Granger? What's going on in there? Are you alright?"

Panicking, Hermione jumped up and grabbed the nearest towel. "Don't come in!"

"I wasn't planning on it. Are you hurt?"

Hermione could hear Malfoy's deep breathing on the other side of the wall, and knew that he was leaning against the frame, trying to listen. Wiping at her eyes, she quickly pulled on silky black pajama bottoms, and a matching black shirt before cracking open the door.

"As you can see I'm just dandy," she stated.

Malfoy's eyes skimmed over her body, and stopped on her hair, but he made no comment on the change. "I made you a make shift bed in the closet, it will have to do for now."

"Won't Pansy notice that you have a...guest? Where is she?"

"Astoria," he corrected. "She won't be a problem," he continued, his voice colder than it had been. "She tends to keep to her own side of the manor."

Hermione quickly tried to conjure up an imagine of Astoria Greengrass in her mind, but it was hazy. She knew her sister Daphne, who was beautiful, and from a powerful family.

"You don't sleep in the same bed?" Hermione asked, incredulously. Immediately her cheeks reddened. She was usually rather tactful and the comment was something that Ron was likely to blurt.

"I did so miss your condescending judgement Granger. However, maybe you should just be grateful and stick to minding your own business."

Hermione shuffled her feet nervously. "Mal- Draco, I'm sorry. I appreciate your help, I'm afraid I'm just...I'm not used to this," she threw her arms up in exasperation. "Used to you, being like...well being how you're being. You hate me. You've never once been nice to me, and frankly this is all a little much to take in."

Malfoy stared at her for a few moments before opening his mouth. "We both have had a long day. I need to gather my thoughts, and you need sleep."

Recognizing the dismissal, Hermione walked to the closet and over to what appeared to be a sleeping bag. Crawling inside, she just had time to think of all the questions she had before falling into troubled sleep.

...

As soon as Hermione disappeared into the closet Draco marched over to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a large glass of firewhiskey. He paced the room a few times before settling down in his favorite arm chair by the window. Dusk was falling, and Draco couldn't help but notice the sinister shadows dancing across the grounds. Would someone be coming for him? He had blatantly lied to Granger when he had said that they wouldn't be found out. In all honesty his decision to help her bordered on the edge of insanity. It was a death sentence. He didn't know what to do with her.

Then there was the matter of Pansy. He frowned at the thought of telling her about Blaise's indiscretions. The nerve of that bastard.

Reaching over for the bottle Draco was about to get a refill when a loud scream came from his closet.

"NO! Please don't! Don't!"

Wand in hand Draco ran inside to see Granger thrashing around on the floor, withering as though in pain.

"I'M A MUDBLOOD!" she screamed.

"Granger!" he shook the girl roughly. "Granger! Fuck, you're having a nightmare!"

Her eyes opened slowly and darted around the space in panic. She sat up, panting. As soon as she realized that he was gripping her shoulders she gave a cry and began pounding his chest.

"What the- Granger stop! Stop! It's me, Draco! I'm not going to hurt you."

Hermione's body eased slightly, and her fists fell limply at her sides. She stared into his eyes, until he lowered his gaze, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they were.

"I-I'm sorry. I woke you?"

He shook his head. "No, I couldn't sleep. Do you often um..."

"I'm not sure," she interrupted him. "Back at the camps it wasn't uncommon for women to cry at night. Many talked in their sleep. If I did, no one would of mentioned it."

Draco ran his hands through his hair, not wanting to remember the helpless faces that avoided him when he had been with Blaise.

"You should try to sleep some more, your body needs it."

"Will you leave the door open?" she asked in a small voice.

Sighing, Draco stood. He made sure to leave the door cracked before looking back at the girl he was so used to taunting. "Goodnight Granger."

She did not reply.

Frustrated, Draco thought about finishing the bottle of firewhiskey calling his name, but instead slid down the wall right by the closet and closed his eyes. He didn't know what to make of the fact that Granger had called herself a mudblood, even if it was in her sleep. The idea unnerved him. Willing his mind to shut down, he relaxed every muscle. If he didn't move he could just barely make out her quiet snores, and whimpers.


	9. Things Hidden

When Hermione woke the sun was up, casting just slivers of faint rays through the closet door, which remained slightly ajar.

"Malfoy?" she called out.

When she didn't receive a reply, she slowly crawled forward on all fours, staying low to the ground. She used one finger to push the door wider, causing it to make a loud creak. Petrified, Hermione paused. What if last night had been some sick game? Sure, she was still in the closet, unharmed, but that didn't mean that she wasn't about to come face to face with Voldemort, or Zabini, or any number of Death Eaters that would laugh at her foolishness to trust one of their own. Telling herself to gather whatever Gryffindor courage she had left, she pushed the door using the force of both her hands. The room was empty. A piece of parchment lay right in front of her face.

_"I have things to take care of. Stay in the room. Healing potions and breakfast on table._

_-D.M." _

Glancing up, Hermione noticed that three small bottles, and what looked like some sort of an ointment, were indeed on a table directly across the room. Accompanying the medicine, was a basket of fruits; strawberries, bananas, kiwis, apples, and grapes. There was also what appeared to be tea, coffee, and pumpkin juice, as well as some biscuits. No doubt the work of some poor house elf, she thought gloomily. However, this was no time to debate house elf rights as her stomach was once again aching with hunger. Standing up, Hermione made her way to the table, apprehensively eyeing the potions. Another note lay waiting for her.

_"If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead by now. Drink the potions._

_-D.M." _

Huffing, Hermione drained the potions, and rubbed the ointment over her bruised skin. Lastly, she nibbled on a few grapes and enjoyed a cup of steaming tea. Multiple plans swirled around in her mind, but nothing that made sense. Where was the Order? Who was still alive? Was there a chance? Could she convince Malfoy to take her to them? They would probably kill him on the spot, she thought, a smile forming on her lips.

Deciding to make the most of her time alone, she slowly wondered around the large, lavish space, looking for clues. To her disappointment, Malfoy's bedroom was as far from personal as could be. There were no pictures hanging on the walls, no posters of his favorite Quidditch team, not even a sign that he belonged to Slytherin. If she didn't know him she wouldn't of known that he had a family, a wife, or that he was in fact a Death Eater. He did have one large bookcase, that reached the high ceiling. However, it was filled with textbooks, or other various famous texts.

Finally, Hermione came upon a beautifully carved chest that sat nearly hidden in the corner. Curious, she tried to open it and gasped when it obliged. She had been sure that it would be locked with a spell. Inside, she found a random collection of items scattered across the bottom. Among them was a prefect badge; worn out and in desperate need of polishing. A number of faded scrolls of parchment that turned out to be old essays. And two pictures. One of Draco standing with Crabbe and Goyle in front of Hogwarts, and one of what must have been a baby Malfoy with Narcissa cooing him. He kept reaching out his tiny hand and wrapping it around her slender finger while she whispered unheard words to him.

Feeling as though she intruded on a tender moment, Hermione quickly shut the heavy lid and stepped away. She wondered why Malfoy kept those things hidden, what they meant to him, if anything. Were they junk, or were they his most prized possessions?

...

Pulling off her shimmering cloak, Astoria carefully set it on a nearby stool and felt her hair to make sure that every strand was still properly in place. Traveling through the Floo Network was simply dreadful, even with the cleanest of fireplaces, which she of course had.

The clicking of tall pumps, no doubt designer, echoed behind her, and she faced the door to her left. A girl who looked much like her, though perhaps not as beautiful, walked in briskly, carying a large stack of papers.

"Daphne," she said, pecking her sister on the cheek.

"Have you heard? It's an outrage," was her sister's reply. "Sit," she stated, pointing to a chair in front of an antique, ebony desk.

Astoria followed the order, as she always did. "Heard what?"

Giving her a cold glare, as though whatever she was about to say was Astoria's doing, Daphne began her speech. "Hermione Granger, the nasty bookworm that Potter used to hang around with at school was rescued yesterday. No one knows how they got around the security, but no matter," she stopped and peered at Astoria's expression. "Do you want to know the best part?"

Sitting up a little straighter Astoria nodded.

"Blaise Zabini had been bedding the mudblood for weeks. I can't imagine Pansy's shame. Anyway, she was last seen in a tent with him, some other pathetic girl, and...your husband."

"I-I beg your pardon?"

Daphne smiled wickedly. "You didn't know that Draco enjoyed the company of other women?"

Astoria felt flushed, and clumsily unbuttoned the top button of her emerald robe exposing her neck. Her stomach twisted in knots, and she felt a strange lump in her throat. Didn't he hate muggle borns? Didn't he respect her position? Mistresses weren't unheard of in arranged marriages, but bedding some dirty muggle who didn't deserve magic was different.

No it was impossible, she had been a good wife, an attentive wife. She matched her demeanor to Pansy's, or at least the way she had been when her and Draco had dated. While it was true that he hardly ever touched her, she always assumed that it was due to the stress. She had even pretended to enjoy torturing muggle borns in order to gain his attention.

"Oh don't look so shocked," Daphne waved her hand in disregard. "It's quite the scandal, but it will blow over. Blaise was the one who saw Granger multiple times. He was questioned, and severely punished by the Dark Lord. According to their stories, it was Draco's first time."

"I see," was all that Astoria could manage.

Daphne frowned. "While this will blow over...I don't think that I need to stress to you the importance of supplying an heir. Merlin forbid if Draco got some filthy whore with child before you. They're quite fertile," she continued, now sorting through her stack of documents. "Are you sure that you're pleasing him well enough in the bedroom?"

"Well lately-"

"Astoria," Daphne put down the quill that she had been holding. "Think of the family. This will benefit all of us."

"Easy for you to say," Astoria bit out before she could stop herself. "I don't see you getting married, and you are older."

"As you very well know, mother and father decided that I would be more of use to them here. Working in the camps. Observing." She spoke slowly, as if explaining things to a child. "I hear things that you never will," she finished proudly.

Astoria looked down and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of Daphne.

"You come here nearly every day now, and sulk in my office. At least do something useful."

"Daphne you know I'm not like you, I can't stand to be around the...the muggle borns. They're pitiful," Astoria whispered.

Daphne didn't bother concealing her eye roll. "So pitiful that they're sleeping with your husband? Some of them are rather striking, and they're willing to put out. I didn't want to do this but..." She shuffled through her drawer and pulled out a red folder, tossing it closer to Astoria. "Cornelia Doyle. Beauxbatons. Parents dead, no remaining relatives known. She is held at Camp D, and she's the one that Draco was going to have."

Astoria opened the folder and stared at the photograph inside. The girl staring back was in fact lovely; dark locks framing her face.

"She looks like Pansy," she stated, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Daphne nodded and snatched the folder back. "It's only a matter of time before he goes back. Unless..."

"Yes?"

"As a favor, I could have her transferred here. If, and only if, you're willing to take on a more active approach in your visits here."

Astoria took a few moments to think the proposition over. She wanted to say no, but the anger bubbling just under the surface of her skin threatened to spill out, and clouded her thoughts.

"Have her moved. Today."


	10. Demands

A/N: Big thank you to everyone reading!

Later in the evening Astoria found herself standing numbly as lukewarm water from the shower washed the remnants of dried blood off her twitching hands and white face. It trickled slowly down the drain; a mixture of red and pink. Her gaze was unfocused, but turmoil raged inside. She felt as though she had died and been reborn. The energy pulsing through her body made her unable to control the goosebumps that prickled her flesh. She gasped in pleasure, at the same time as tears spilled from her eyes. Sliding down against the cool marble tile, she allowed sobs to shake through her, gasping for air. Images and sounds from earlier entered her mind, but she shut them out. Finally, composing herself she straightened and turned off the water.

Grabbing a fluffy towel, Astoria began humming softly, all the while observing her reflection. She would have Draco tonight, that she had decided. After all, she deserved to forget the events of the day. Using a quick spell, she dried her hair, but left it down in soft waves. Grinning, she then proceeded to put on green lingerie which she had recently purchased. It was both feminine and sexy, playful and lacy; cupping her small breasts, but leaving just enough to the imagination. White stockings connected to her garter, showing off her lean legs, and finally a pair of extremely high black pumps.

Satisfied, Astoria pulled on a light robe to cover herself up. She wanted to surprise Draco, to make this special. She could be as good as any muggle born if he would just let her. Walking across the manor, Astoria realized that she was a bundle of nerves. She was never this bold when it came to sex, usually leaving it up to Draco. Stopping in her tracks she considered turning back around, but flashes of Cornelia taunted her.

"Draco," she called his name and knocked on his bedroom door three times.

After a few moments his silvery blonde head emerged. He looked startled, and perhaps upset. She heard water running in the background and wondered if he was about to take a bath.

"Did you need something?" he asked quickly.

She noted that he did not allow her entrance, but instead remained in the threshold.

"I was rather in the middle of something-"

"Draco," Astoria mumbled grabbing his hand. "Stop," she reached out and placed one finger on his lips. They were soft and warm, much unlike the man himself.

Backing up a few steps she undid her robe and dropped it to the floor.

"I know your secret," she stated calmly.

"I-what?" he asked, color leaving his face. "What are you wearing?"

Astoria smiled, placing a hand on her hip. "You didn't honestly think that word wouldn't get back to me. Everyone knows. Our dirty laundry out there for everyone to gossip over during tea. Did you even consider your mothers feelings? My dignity? Attempting to bed a dirty whore," she finished.

Draco blinked three times before answering. "Do not speak of things you know nothing about."

His hard demeanor made Astoria cringe. She wondered if perhaps she should allow him to see the pain that his betrayal caused her, but knew that Draco would not find the sight of tears attractive. She was merely a pawn in a bigger game, and knew her position.

"I want a child," she replied. "Take me to bed."

"I am not in the mood," he growled.

It felt like a slap in the face, stinging and burning. She made a move to walk inside his bedroom, but he clasped his hand around her wrist pulling her back.

"I said I'm not in the mood."

"Then you will get in the mood unless you want for the whole world to find out that you are not doing your duty. What will your father say when he finds out how little you have done to further the family line? I can and I will ruin you Draco. Please don't make me," she whispered.

He was quiet for a few moments, and she noticed thin wrinkles gathering across his forehead. She felt repulsive, horrid.

"Go back to your bed. I will join you shortly."

Without another word, he walked inside his room and shut the door.

...

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, and rubbed his temples which were now aching. He had to gather himself, he had to act. He wasn't surprised that Astoria had heard the story of his and Blaise's failure, but he was sure that she had not discovered the truth. The truth was currently taking her evening bath.

He had spent the day appeasing the Dark Lord. He had hoped to spare some time to see Pansy, but was unable to do so, instead sending her an owl letting her know that he would explain everything soon. He was deeply worried about Blaise, and what he would do to Pansy now that he had lost his outlet.

Sorting through his storage of potions, Draco quickly found the one he was looking for; a large blue bottle. He took three small sips and coughed.

"Contraceptive potion?"

Nearly dropping the glass, Draco turned around to find Granger observing him. She looked much healthier, and cleaner. The smell of fresh vanilla with just a hint of cinnamon reached his nostrils, and he couldn't help but take a large whiff.

"How did you-?"

She walked over to him and looked at the liquid.

"The cobalt blue coloring gives it away. Not to mention the slight metallic scent," she stated.

While she spoke calmly he noticed the fear reflected in her eyes.

"Still a know it all," he muttered out of habit. "I have to visit Astoria for a while, you are to stay in the room of course."

"Astoria? I didn't realize that...oh."

A deafening silence fell.

Draco felt angry, defensive. Every inch of him stiffened with the confrontation. He knew that he didn't have to explain himself to anyone, least of all Granger, but the girl had gotten to him. He didn't know why he was doing any of this. Was it madness or something else?

"I'll be back then Granger. We can discuss...things when I return."

He left before she could reply. Who did she think that she was, questioning his marriage. She was supposed to be everything that he despised, that the Ministry despised, everything that they had fought to eradicate. Yet he had saved her. Saved her so that she could save him from becoming like them. If only she knew how disgusted he was by the situation. How awful he felt having to touch his own wife.

It took Draco a mere five minutes to reach Astoria's side of the manor. Her bedroom door was wide open, and he noted that only a few candles flickered inside. She was sprawled on her back, gazing up at him through long eyelashes.

Draco took off his shoes, his socks, unzipped his trousers, and finally removed the undershirt that he had worn under his robe. He then slid into bed, wishing that darkness could consume them. Propping himself up on his elbow he observed her. She looked bored, yet there was a certain air of lust about her.

"Take off your garments," he drawled.

When she complied he raised himself so that he towered over her, and she easily wrapped her legs around him, forcing him closer. A small sigh escaped her parted lips, and she tipped her head back closing her eyes.

Draco too closed his eyes; pretending that she was not Astoria, but a woman that he loved. Pushing inside her, he imagined other witches, but was somehow taken back to the memory of Granger's naked breast. It had been perky, and full, with small rosy nipples that were hardened by the cool air in the tent. Disturbed, Draco groaned, and gave a few hard thrusts before emptying himself inside Astoria.

Immediately he rolled off and stood up.

"I hope you're happy now."

"So happy," she chuckled. Her tone was laced with a mixture of loathing and sarcasm. "We will keep doing this until you get me with child."


	11. Changed

A/N: Thank you everyone reading! To clear a few things up, Draco doesn't know what he feels for Hermione yet. It isn't lust, and he does not have feelings for her yet. She is simply the girl who always beat him in school. As for Astoria, she has tragically tried to be what Draco wants, when it is actually everything he hates. In return, he sees her as cruel. Also, parts of this will have text from Tales of the Beedle and Bard which all belong to J.K. Rowling!

As soon as the heavy door shut behind Malfoy, Hermione made her way to the window sill and stared at the pale moon above her. It was obscured by fog, and clouds, but still slightly visible. She lingered for a moment on Malfoy's strange relationship with his wife, but the thought quickly passed. She was sure that she would never grasp the complexities of pureblood marriages.

For the first time in over a year she felt peace, and a glimpse of hope. Her thoughts turned to Harry, poor Harry, who should have never died. Then to Ron, the Weasleys, her parents, Neville, and Luna. She desperately wished that they were somewhere out there, happy. Perhaps gazing at the same sky as her. Perhaps she would leave this hell, and see them one day. A few tears escaped her eyes, and she sniffed quietly. This was not the time to cry, not when she had a chance. Still, she couldn't help but let the bitter tears fall for everything that she had lost, for everything uncertain that lay ahead of her. The fear, the pain, the hunger, the nightmares.

Unable to think about her loved ones any longer Hermione walked over to Malfoy's bookshelf and lightly touched the spines of a few books. Picking one randomly she scanned through the pages, finding an article by none other than Brutus Malfoy.

_"This we may state with certainty: any wizard who shows fondness for the society of muggles is of low intelligence, with magic so feeble and pitiful that he can only feel himself superior if surrounded by muggle pig-men. Nothing is a surer sign of weak magic than a weakness for non-magical company."_

Disgusted, Hermione slammed the book shut, and considered for a moment throwing it in the fire. Instead, she clutched it against her chest, and rocked back and forth. The hateful words no longer shocked her, but instead were a symbol of why so many in the wizard community mocked people like her. She was in this state when Malfoy found her.

He hardly gave her one glance, and didn't say a word. Before she could even move, he was pouring himself a glass of fire whiskey. He took long, slow sips, as though the liquid would disappear. He appeared slightly disheveled, and pitiful. Finally, he noticed what she was holding.

"I see that you have found my great grand father's works. Lovely aren't they? Most illuminating."

His tone was so sarcastic and spiteful that Hermione recoiled.

"I was just-"

He waved his hand. "No matter. You always were a bookworm. It's comforting to know that when the world changes some things simply remain the same. Drink?" he offered.

She was never a drinker, still the lingering pain, and the constant nightmares made her want some comfort. "Maybe just one."

"Join me," he ordered, pointing to a chair across from his.

The second she sat down she began speaking. "I want to find the Order. I want to fight. Please...Draco. Please take me to them."

He considered her request, absentmindedly making circles with his long fingers along the rim of his glass. "I can't make any promises. I believe that it is best for you to just stay here. I have contacts, but it would be damn near impossible to get you out of the city. Not to mention that I have no bloody idea where the Order is," he finally stated.

"But you could find out-"

"I could try," he cut her off. "The Dark Lord is far from pleased that you escaped. He had plans for you. While he believes that you were rescued, he did form a search party."

"What plans? Is Blaise...well is Zabini alive?" Hermione asked; both fearing and needing to know the answer.

"Plans that you and I stopped. As for Blaise, he is unfortunately as well as can be expected after being tortured for his failures. Granger, is he the only one who, well you know who ra-"

Hermione stood, knocking the chair over. "Don't say it Malfoy!" she warned. "Do not say that word. Just please," she added, seeing the appalled look on his face.

She was shaking slightly, and felt as though she was suffocating. Suddenly, she felt his cool hand on her arm, gently squeezing. Startled, she jumped back.

"Don't! Don't touch me, don't!"

Before she knew what she was doing Hermione began pounding Malfoy's chest with her small fists.

"Death Eater! I won't! I won't! I refuse! Don't touch me, don't!" she kept crying out.

He allowed her to lose herself for a few moments before grabbing her shoulders and pinning her arms down to her sides. "Merlin Granger stop!"

She kept wiggling but he held her tightly against his chest, until her anger turned to heavy sobs. Hermione felt ridiculous, she knew that fear of the word only increased the fear itself, yet she did not want to hear the truth so blatantly stated. She never wanted to think about the long nights spent in Zabini's company ever again.

"He was the only one," she finally hiccuped. "I don't believe that he liked to share."

Pulling back, she stared into Malfoy's face, which was flushed and so close that she could make out the specks of blue in his otherwise grey eyes.

"Right then," he mumbled, gently detangling her hands from clutching his shirt.

They stood awkwardly in front of each other, neither knowing whether to mention what had just happened.

Malfoy was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry I asked. It's not my business."

Hermione shook her head. "You saved me, you have a right to know. I- I don't know why you did this. Are doing this. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you." She looked down at her feet, nervous.

"Hermione," he spoke her name so softly that she thought for a brief moment that she had imagined it. "I am a rotten man, a coward, a Death Eater. Do not thank me for anything. I spent the better part of our lives making fun of you and your blood. I am selfish. Almost everything that I have done has served merely to preserve myself."

A slight frown crossed Hermione's face. It was true that the man standing in front of her was far from perfect, but despite of what he thought he had changed from the arrogant boy she once knew at school.

"The Draco I knew just two years ago would never have helped me," she stated. "You had nothing to gain from taking me away, and everything to lose. Doesn't sound so selfish to me."

"I'm not changed."

"Do you still believe that I am beneath you because of my blood then?" she demanded.

"No that's silly, but-"

She stopped him. "Do you wish to torture muggles for the fun of it?"

"I do not wish to torture anyone honestly. If only it were that simple though. You Gryffindors see the world as so black and white."

"Do you want to serve Voldemort?" Hermione continued. Maybe, just maybe, if she got him to see that he was on the wrong side he would be more willing to help her return to the Order. "Are you satisfied with your life? With the pureblood society?"

"Enough!" Malfoy slammed his hands on the table, sending his glass flying to the floor. His lips had thinned into a tight line, and his eyes were hard as stone. "I am not sharing my life's ambitions with you. It does not matter. Will never matter. I will think over what to do with you. Until then you stay here."

Not wanting to push her luck, or break any boundaries Hermione backed down. She believed that Malfoy still had a chance to turn his life around, to redeem himself, but it was not her place to decide it for him. She was unwilling to anger him, not when she was at his mercy.

Walking over to the closet, she murmured a quick "Good night," and slipped inside, still leaving the door ajar.

Laying on the floor she listened to Malfoy's footsteps as he clearly paced around his room. She wondered what had happened with Astoria to agitate him so. After a while, she found comfort in the repetitive sound of his shoes and drifted into troubled sleep.

Hermione awoke within a few hours, sweating through the clothes Malfoy had given her. Her nightmare had seemed so real, perhaps because she was simply reliving the past. She noticed that the light in the room had gone out, and heard the faint but distinct sound of Malfoy's quiet snores. Fear gripped her once again as she remembered every vile word that had been said to her. The panic built up, making her body feel as though she was experiencing the Cruciatus Curse.

"Malfoy," she called out.

When he did not reply, she gathered her shaking self and tip toed to the side of his massive bed. Fit for a king.

"Malfoy," she whispered again.

The boy was knocked out cold, and Hermione took note of the now empty bottle laying beside his limp body, as though he fell asleep clutching it. Considering her options, she slowly lifted the corner of the comforter and slipped in beside him. It was madness, but she could not stand the thought of sleeping alone. Plus, the size of the bed meant that at least three feet separated them, she told herself as her heart finally slowed, and her eyes shuttered close.


End file.
